


Leading to the Nexus Future

by xxELF21xx



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Introspection, M/M, Prince!Red Wine, Songfic, Time Skips, tbh idk wtf im writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxELF21xx/pseuds/xxELF21xx
Summary: Red Wine, a prince, a Lord. An untouchable man that leads the way.





	Leading to the Nexus Future

**Author's Note:**

> listen [Over "Quartzer"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FfV3_Lap_Bo) is a good fucking song and y'all should listen to it.

_It's a brand new History. Feel it, feel it!_

The Coronation is never taken lightly. Streets are splashed in every colour you've ever seen -- and  _more --_ with smiles adorning the faces of weary civilians. In this bleak, thriving Kingdom, you don't hope for much; only peace. The war with their neighbouring Kingdoms, the endless pillaging of their outermost villages - you've had enough of the gruelling life you were born into. The Coronation marked a change in rulers, a change in Time. 

_Making our bonds the guiding light,_

You're the best fighter the Kingdom has to offer. At the bright age of twenty, you share many similarities with the Crown Prince. Or, so you're told. The young Royal is nothing like you've ever experienced: flamboyant, condescending, awfully snide and critical of everything and everyone. Only around young children and maidens, is he fair and friendly. A spark of worry travels up your spine as the Prince gets rough-housed for his terrible comments towards the Guards. Something compels you to lash out, to protect the New Blood. This Prince has what it takes to change the flow of Time; you know it.

_Now's the time to shout it out! Shout it out!_

They're sitting at opposite ends of the table, glancing at each other with friendly eyes while an array of food (some of which you've never had the wealth to afford) is laid out in between the vast table. The Prince, a young man of twenty-two now, eyes the dishes with an air of distaste; asking, 'do you really want to have table manners in such awful ambience?' You stifle a laugh, unable to maintain your composure.  _Only him,_ you think,  _would say that with the gossiping errand boys in sight._ Harrumphing, the Prince drags you out of the Hall, loudly declaring that both of you will be dining at more comfortable establishments. 

_Move through the Present,_

The Prince's hair is getting long, you notice. It no longer sits at the curve of the Prince's throat, but stays tied in a slim ponytail by his shoulder. It's not a bad look, you conclude, but still jarring nonetheless. No other Royal has ever done this, you hear the cooks whisper, everyone with the Blood had to keep up their tidy looks. You mention it to the Prince, one afternoon, with the summer sun blazing down on you. You receive a weird look, dark blue (almost purple) eyes studying the fringes of a messy ponytail. 'Do you really think I would care about personal appearances in this heat?'  _No, you don't._

_The will of the Past won't be clouded by Lies,_

The Prince makes quick work to rebuild what his predecessors have destroyed, breathing life and restoring the Kingdom to its original glory. He seems happier, one can assume, with how bright he shines under the frosty spring blizzards. 'This is a first,' he remarks, arms thrown wide to welcome the biting cold. 'Doesn't it seem wonderful? With all these terrible disasters, I feel like this is the last one before we are finally rid of our mistakes.' He seems at peace, breathing easily, carrying the Kingdom and all of its burden on his shoulders. A warm gust of wind wraps you up snugly in its embrace, before kissing your cheeks goodbye.  _Perhaps you are right, my Lord,_ you humour him.

_Just feel the Nexus Future,_

No other Royal has ever dared do this, you're sure, as he kisses your forehead with a tenderness you never once associated with a man like him. He gazes at you affectionately, pride and love in every movement. The Guards toss you a confused look, and you're sure that the news of Him taking on a toy will spread the very next moment-- but none come. Instead, there's whispers and wagers on when He will propose to you, a bright ruby ring in place of the traditional diamond. The Prince hears of this, of course he does, and burns a furious pink. He won't look at you properly, and outright refuses to entertain the thought of endless teasing by the Court Ladies at balls. Something's changing in this Palace, you're sure, as he looks at you from beside his throne -  _he's waiting for me._

_Dash as fast as possible, until the last Second,_

Red and purple flood the streets once more, in every crevice and on every ordinary man. The streets cheer with rosy cheeks and molten sunshine in their faces. Your Prince, you realize, witnessing the heavy crown replacing the once silver, is now a King. He smiles, soft and graceful, thanking the servants and Bishop (he's always thanking those under him) with such sincerity. As soon as the sceptre is passed into his hands, his eyes sweep across the floor, memorizing the faces of his Court -- and lands on you. You barely have the time to react before he comes flying at you, purple lined cloak spreading like an angel's wings in your worldview. 

_Go beyond all obstacles,_

It's a tough crowd to please, he muses, complaining about the stuck-up Ministers he has to pretend to like every morning. Being a ruler is no longer fun, he reiterates, hiding in the folds of your jacket. You flick his forehead, telling him to mind his manners and march forth like how he's done a thousand times before.  _Just because your clothes got heavier doesn't mean you're getting slow,_ you remind him.  _There is so much more you can do, and now, you can._ He lights up, slowly, determination flowing through his veins.

_Yes, my Lord._

You hardly have to utter those words, you've always called him by name. The trust that runs between the both of you is deep. But even then, there are times when you have to acknowledge he's someone with his own thoughts and perceptions. He whispers to you, 'would you run if I told you to?' And you reply without thinking,  _I've run whenever I can._ He laughs, light and carefree, but there's a strain in his voice. Doubt strikes you. 'What if I told you to kneel?' Now, that throws you off, because he's always seen you as an equal. You say that out loud, and is relieved when he nods, fiddling with your entwined hands.  _However,_ you pause, gauging his reaction,  _I would still do as you say, Lord._ His posture turns rigid, and a small smile makes its way onto your face.

_You're my King._

He kneels, in front of dozens of Ministers, in front of  _you._ 'You're my King,' he utters, as if in prayer, holding both of your hands gingerly in his grip. Shocked, you watch, mortified, as he lifts his head, gazing at you with a playful expression. 'I'm unworthy of your endless patience with me, my King,' he continues, disregarding the whispers that spread through the crowd, 'and it would be my greatest honour to have you stand by my side -- and sit next to me, on our throne.' 

 


End file.
